Kissin' Cousins
by Glory1863
Summary: Porthos takes an immediate and intense dislike to a new crewman even though Malcolm, the Watchdog, vouches for him. How does one change a stubborn beagle's mind? Sequel to Sita Z's story Stinky by her kind permission.


Kissin' Cousins

I'm sitting in my dog bed in Dad's kennel listening to him and Uncle Trip talk and joke around. We're waiting for Watchdog. His human name is Malcolm Reed, and he's the master of the great claws of fire _(and the little ones, too)_. I think I love him as much as I love Uncle Trip, but calling him Uncle Malcolm just doesn't seem right somehow. Once he gets here, it will be "boys' night out" _(not that you can really "go out" in space; believe me, I've tried)_.

They'll be watching game 7 of something called the World Series with the Chicago Cubs versus the Detroit Tigers. Uncle Trip says that it's been so long since the Cubs won the series - a coon's age he calls it - that there's no human alive who actually **saw** the game. He says it's because of the curse of the goat. Dad laughs and says that some humans believe that if the Cubs win, then it will be the end of the world. I don't understand any of this. Raccoons don't live that long, especially if there are dogs about. How could a goat hurt a bear, even a little one? Most importantly, I don't know how a little bear is going to beat a tiger, but I hope he does, even if it **is** the end of the world. After all, a tiger is nothing more than a big _(if you'll pardon my language)_ C-A-T, and being a dog, I **hate** C-A-T-S!

The doorbell rings. "Come on in, Malcolm," Dad says.

"I do apologize for keeping you gentleman waiting, but I was," Watchdog pauses for a very long moment and then continues, "unavoidably detained." His coat seems a bit pinker than usual as he says this.

Uncle Trip smiles at him in the strangest way and says, "For a minute there, Mal, I thought the cat got yer tongue." This only seems to make Watchdog's coat turn even pinker. _"As much as I love him, sometimes Uncle Trip could use a muzzle."_

Dad seems totally oblivious as he passes Watchdog a bottle of the pale yellow water that foams (one that hasn't been in the cold box) and offers him and Uncle Trip a food in paw consisting of a big piece of bread; a long, fat tube of meat and lots of vegetables, including little green things that burn your insides all the way to the tip of your tail if you eat one. _"I __**really**__ don't want to discuss this further, if you don't mind."_ He switches on the game and settles back to watch. When he doesn't offer me one, the meat that is, I bark rather persistently.

"Sorry, boy. You want a hot dog, too?" Dad asks.

"You're eating dog?!" I yip.

Watchdog takes pity on me. "Perhaps Porthos would prefer one of his beef jerky treats, sir? From his perspective, you Yanks have given the frankfurter a most unfortunate appellation."

"Give him one, would you, Malcolm?" Dad says absently around a mouth full of - I don't want to think about what it's full of. He's already engrossed in the game.

Watchdog gets me a treat and pats my head. "Don't worry, Porthos, we're not dining on any of your relations," he says quietly. I lick his paw in thanks then settle down to gnaw on my treat and watch the game. Turns out, there are no animals, just humans and one Wiggle Ear. One throws a ball. Another tries to hit it. If he does, then he runs. Lots of others try to catch it. Just a pretty complicated way to play "fetch" it you ask me.

Since there is no prospect of seeing a big C-A-T get what he has coming to him, I become bored and try to find someone to pet me. Apparently, Watchdog is as bored as I am, so I jump up beside him on the furniture _(even thought I'm not supposed to)_ and am soon enjoying the feel of his strong but gentle paws rubbing my coat.

When Uncle Trip gets up to get another bottle out of the cold box, he spies Watchdog and me. "Say, Mal, don't you just look like the cat that swallowed the canary?" Again, he gives Watchdog the oddest smile and again Watchdog's pale coat turns pink. _"I know Uncle Trip sometimes uses bad words, especially when the go for walk or the go for run doesn't work, but it's not like him to use the C-word, and he's already used it twice tonight. What's happening?" _

The game seems to drag on and on. I keep wondering about Uncle Trip's sudden fixation on C-A-T-S. Now that the human chow is gone, I'm aware of a vaguely unpleasant scent in the kennel. I jump off the furniture next to Watchdog and go in search of it. I sniff carefully all over and realize that the closer I get to coming back to Watchdog, the more powerful and disturbing the scent. Suddenly, I recognize what it is, and I begin to howl. _"Watchdog, how __**could**__ you? What __**were**__ you thinking?"_

Uncle Trip is laughing now. "I ain't sure Mal, but I'm guessin' Porthos, here, just got a load of Stinky."

"Porthos, be quiet!" Dad says in his command voice. He's annoyed by the interruption. Apparently, the game has finally gotten interesting. "You too, Trip. Now, who the heck is Stinky and why is Porthos howling?"

Uncle Trip is having a hard time obeying Dad. Watchdog looks very uncomfortable _(as well he should!)_ as he explains, "Stinky's not a 'who', sir, but a 'what'. He's a cat, sir, or to be more precise, a male calico kitten, only a few weeks old. He's quite rare, sir, and he's my pet." By this point, his attitude is no longer quite so submissive. "I saw his mother prowling about the food court on Jupiter Station. You know how some people don't fancy cats, sir, and abuse them. _"News flash! Dogs don't "fancy" them either! You should __**know**__ that, Watchdog!" _I followed her back to her litter, policed them up _(he's unconsciously rubbing a long scratch on his paw - serves him right!)_ and took them to the station administrator who said he'd find good homes for them. I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I wasn't in a position to refuse when he offered me one."

Uncle Trip laughs out loud again. "Shucks, Cap'n, he followed me home. Can I keep 'im?"

"Trip," Dad's voice is low, almost threatening. It's how he sounds when he tells me that I've been a bad dog and won't be getting any treats for awhile.

"Relax, Malcolm. You can keep him. _"Aw, Dad!"_ You didn't **really** think I'd shove him out the airlock, did you? _"Works for me!"_ I had a big old tabby cat myself, name of Sonny, for about 15 years. When he died, I got Porthos. _"You what?! You had a C-A-T before you adopted me, and you're only telling me this now?"_ Have Phlox check Stinky out. And, Malcolm, he's your responsibility, so keep him out of trouble."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll see to it that he's no trouble to anyone. _"Shows what you know! All __C-A-T-S are trouble! It's their middle name. Stinky Trouble Reed. That'll be him, all right!"_ Oh, and sir, the thought never occurred to me that you'd space him." I've never seen Watchdog this flustered before, and his coat is an interesting shade of pink. "By your leave, sir? I'd like to take him to sickbay now." _"More like you want to escape from having to watch this boring game now that the chow is gone. Maybe there's hope for you yet, Watchdog, but I don't know . . ."_

When Watchdog leaves _(too bad he didn't take all of that nasty C-A-T scent with him!)_, Dad turns back to the game. "Darn!" he says.

Uncle Trip laughs. "Wait 'til next year, Jon! Isn't that what they always say? For the past 250 years and countin'?"

"Out, smart-mouth!" is Dad's reply. Uncle Trip is still laughing as the door closes. Apparently, Dad missed the end of the game, and the Cubs lost again. Right now, he's watching a play it again and again and again. One of the Tigers hits the ball, and it goes back, back, way back to the wall where the only Wiggle Ear, who's a Cub, jumps way up off his hind legs and stretches his body out like I do when I want to get the attention of the door's little golden eye so I can go out. The ball doesn't go over the wall, but it's not in the Wiggle Ear's paw protector that helps to fetch either. It's lost somewhere in the big green vine growing all over the wall. The Tiger who was already at the second stone, gets to run all the way to the stone that's "home" and makes the winning point.

I curl up in my dog bed and feel like whimpering. It was supposed to be the end of the world if the Cubs won, but they didn't. So why does it feel like the end of the world anyway? How could Dad and Watchdog like both C-A-T-S and dogs? It's the cardinal law of the universe - you're either canine or _(pardon my language again, but I have to use the F-word)_ F-E-L-I-N-E. You **can't** be both! It ain't natural!

OK, so maybe Dad's a little strange, but Watchdog? He's not just any dog - he's the watchdog for cryin' out loud! _"I've been spending way too much time with Uncle Trip!" _It never occurred to me to ask, and he sure wasn't telling! The more I think about it, though _(Spicy Lady Erect Ears would say I was being logical)_, the more I realize that the signs were there all along, and I should've known. Mind you, dogs aren't necessarily scruffy, but Watchdog is obsessively tidy and always perfectly groomed. He's not stuck up exactly, but I guess Uncle Trip was right after all when he said Malcolm Reed was a hard person to get to know. I used to think he was stealthy like a dog, but the way he smuggled that animal on board was certainly sneaky like a cat. Most importantly, he doesn't like to play in the water. Everyone knows C A T-S **hate** water!

"Come on, boy. Let's go for a walk." Dad interrupts my musing by attaching a leash to my collar. I'm not really in the mood, but then again, maybe the bad C-A-T scent will be gone when we get back, and maybe Chow Hound will have left a treat out for me if we stop in his territory. Truth be told, I could **really** use a big piece of cheddar cheese about now.

We do go to the Chow Hound's territory, and when we get there, it's very busy which is strange for this time of night. Then my nose catches that nasty scent again just as Flower Lady Long Hair squeals, "Oh! Isn't he CUTE!" _"She used to say that about me - and in just that tone of voice, too."_

"Come on, Porthos. Let's go meet Stinky," Dad says.

"Do we have to?" I whine. Dad picks me up and carries me over to the table to join the rest of the pack where the nasty C-A-T scent is overwhelming. Oh, great! Chow Hound is there was a saucer of milk and some of **my** cheese. Now all the chow and the treats will have that nauseating C-A-T scent.

Flower Lady Long Hair carefully places a little fur ball on the table, and it scampers over to the saucer of milk. Its little pink tongue daintily laps at the milk while Spicy Lady Erect Ears hesitantly reaches out a hand to pet its patchwork black, brown and burnt orange coat. It's clear that Dark Coat Lead Dog, Uncle Trip, and of course, Watchdog and Smiling Vet have already handled the creature. Its disgusting scent is going to be all over the ship. I'm beginning to understand how Spicy Lady Erect Ears felt when she first came aboard and thought all the humans smelled as bad as the Bad Smell Mangy Mutt Pack. _"Actually, I think I prefer them to C-A-T."_

Dad puts me on the table so I can get a better look at what he terms "the new crewman." Now, beagles aren't all that big _(although there are some annoying, yapping little dogs that __**are**__ smaller)_, but I tower over the fur ball, so I lower my front legs and rest my head on my front paws. The fur ball turns around on its pristine white feet , and I hear the tinkling sound of the little jingle bells on its black leather collar. It looks at me with its strange eyes, one green and one amber, then arches its back and raises its tail. The multicolored fur bristles. It hisses and bares its teeth. _"What's your problem? I haven't done anything, and the only way I'd look more submissive is to be on my back."_ Too late, I see the claws come out on its front paws, one of which takes a swipe at me and connects with my nose. "Ow!" I yip. Even Dad laughs as I jump off the table.

Outcast Traitor Malcolm _(I simply can't think of him as Watchdog anymore) _at least has the grace to be embarrassed. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. Is Porthos all right?"

He scoops up the aptly named Stinky and attempts to soothe him while all the while reading him the Riot Act. "Stinky, assaulting a fellow crewman is unacceptable behavior, particularly inasmuch as Porthos is the Captain's pet and outranks you. I'm placing you on report and confining you to quarters. No special privileges for you until your learn to behave." _"Don't you get it? He is 'behaving' according to C-A-T standards, the little hooligan." _

Dad is still laughing. "He sure is a feisty little thing! I should have known Stinky would be an attack cat."

I'm not finding the situation amusing in the least. I've been humiliated by a tiny C-A-T in front of all my friends in the pack, they think its funny, and my nose, which is very sensitive, is killing me! Outcast Traitor Malcolm tries to make amends by offering me a piece of cheese, but I want nothing to do with him. This is all **his** fault!

"Porthos, why don't you come down to Sickbay where I can have a look at your nose, hmmm?" Smiling Vet asks quietly. I muster up as much dignity as I can, and walk out with him with my head and tail held high. Normally, I don't like going to the vet, but right now I'm not sure I'd care if he put me to sleep because the last I see of Dad, he's actually petting the noxious little piece of fuzz that clawed me.

Once I get back to Dad's kennel, I pretty much stay in my dog bed or wander about when he's gone. When he comes home, I hide under his bed or in the closet. I don't jump up on his bed anymore when he pats it and calls my name, and I certainly don't sleep there. I wonder sometimes if Spicy Lady Erect Ears would like to adopt me. I understand she had a pet _sehlat _when she was little, but I don't know if that was canine or F-E-L-I-N-E, and somehow I can't see her playing "fetch". I even think about stowing away with Sharp Claw Wiggle Ear and his mate Sees with Heart/Speaks with Mind the next time they come visit. "_After all, if it worked for that C-A-T, it should work for me."_ Even though I now consider Watchdog to be Outcast Traitor Malcolm, I'm the one who no longer feels a part of the pack.

Late one night, when Dad is making the funny sleep sounds, I finally decide to go out and see if anyone is in the exercise yard and wants to play - anyone, that is, who hasn't heard about my unfortunate encounter with "the fuzz ball from Hades" and will still treat me as a respected member of the pack instead of teasing me and laughing at me.

As luck would have it, though, when I get there, Outcast Traitor Malcolm is the only one about. He's running on the walk but don't go anywhere machine. "Hello, Porthos. Do you fancy going for a run with me?" he asks softly. He acts as if nothing's happened between us. I remember that this is how I first got to know him, and I'm tempted to take him up on his offer until I hear the jingle bells and see the little tail hanging over the edge of the controls for the machine, so instead I simply stand my ground and growl deep in my throat.

"Porthos, there's no need to behave that way," he says quietly.

"_Behave like what? I'm angry, sad, lonely and confused. I just found out that Dad wishes I was a C-A-T like Sonny. You don't know what that feels like? I guess I heard wrong, then, when Uncle Trip said your Dad wanted __**you**__ to be someone else and drove you away when you couldn't be. I thought you were my best friend - just like Uncle Trip - but you let me think you were canine when you weren't. You lied to me. I guess you don't remember what __**you**__ felt like when Uncle Trip's littermate died and he didn't want to play with you anymore, when he decided he'd rather play with Spicy Lady Erect Ears. Your obnoxious little animal embarrassed me in front of the pack. Now, all they want to do is pet him and play with him. I guess I misunderstood how you felt about Growler, too. You didn't really mind having him around, did you? You were just 'playing' with him when you both ended up at the vet's, right? So, I ask again: Behave like what? Behave like __**you**__?" _I wish I could escape, but with no doggy door, that's not possible, so I stalk away and crawl inside the tunnel of a rolled up exercise mat. Outcast Traitor Malcolm could still get to me if he wanted to, but I know he'll consider it too much trouble to unroll the big mat.

Even in here, I can't escape the nasty C-A-T scent. Apparently, the little varmint likes to hide in here, too. I lay down and give more serious consideration to running away from 'home' with Sharp Claw Wiggle Ear and Sees With Heart/Speaks with Mind. At least their scents are pleasant. They remind me of how the Chow Hound's territory smells when he's cooking treats for the humans. Sharp Claw Wiggle Ear has the pungent scent of something called cinnamon while Sees with Heart/Speaks with Mind has the soothing scent of something called vanilla. How I would love to sit on her lap while she pets my coat!

My pleasant fantasy in interrupted by the sound of jingle bells and the patter of tiny feet running overhead. I know better than to think that it's a reindeer with a big, red nose. _"The only animal with a red nose around here is me!" _I see little glowing eyes at the end of the tunnel. "Hi, Porthos. May I come in?" I don't bother to answer the tentative little meows, but after a bit, he comes in anyway and stops just out of my reach.

"I'm sorry I hurt your nose Porthos, but you scared me. I turned around from drinking my bedtime treat and came face to face with the biggest dog I've ever seen." I almost yip in laughter. _"Just wait until your Dad takes you home to San Francisco and you get a load of Hannibal, the big black Rottweiler guard dog with the bad attitude at Starfleet Headquarters. He's a terror even with a muzzle and a choke chain."_ You looked like you were ready to pounce. _"Dogs don't pounce! We stalk, we lunge, but we don't pounce! Pounce is a C-A-T thing." _So I had to defend myself. I didn't know you were a friend and I didn't have to be afraid of you."

I continue to ignore him, but he doesn't budge. Eventually, I hear Outcast Traitor Malcolm calling for him. "Yeah, OK, whatever! Now scram! Your Dad wants you. It's probably past your bedtime."

"Bye, Porthos. See you later," he says with what I swear are happy little meows as he scampers away. _"Not if I have anything to say about it!"_

I hear Outcast Traitor Malcolm say, "So that's where you went haring off to, Stinky. Did you apologize to Porthos as a good little cat should have done?" I hear loud meows to the affirmative, but in addition I hear him saying that I'm a good dog, and he wants to play with me. _"Oh, please!"_

"Good night, Porthos. I'm going to turn the lights out now," Outcast Traitor Malcolm says in his quiet, polite voice.

"G'night, Porthos," I hear in sleepy little meows.

I lay in the dark in the middle of the tunnel in the exercise mat and try to figure things out. As much as it pains me, I have to admit that the little critter showed some real guts (_yes, and some real class, too)_ coming in here to apologize to me. His reason for clawing me makes sense, too, when I look at it from his point of view. I suppose if it had happened to another dog - say Hannibal the Rottweiler - I might even agree that it was funny; but it didn't happen to another dog, it happened to me, and right now the friendliest creature on the ship doesn't even belong to the pack, at least not in my estimation. I just don't know what to think.

I am alone back in Dad's kennel. The ship is shaking like a dog that has just gotten out of the water. Apparently, we've crossed into some other pack's territory again and they've taken offense. _"Well, what did you expect?"_ You'd think that Spicy Lady Erect Ears, whose pack has traveled in space far longer than the humans, could train the sensors to detect where other packs have marked their territories. After all, they're supposed to be the nose for the ship.

The shaking goes on and on, and it's starting to scare me. I thought I'd gotten used to it. It happens often enough. I thought I would never do again what I did the first time. It was so embarrassing! I wanted Dad, but he was busy. I wanted to at least see what was going on, but that wasn't happening either. I was so scared that I started barking, then whimpering and finally howling. I even had an accident. Somehow, Dad and Watchdog got us out of trouble more or less in one piece like they always do. Funny, I hadn't thought of Outcast Traitor Malcolm as Watchdog for quite awhile. I guess fear can provide a pretty potent attitude adjustment.

I suddenly wonder how Watchdog's little critter is doing. He's never gone through this before. Maybe I should go check on him, that is, if the ship will hold still long enough for me to do the trick that opens the door.

It takes a couple of tries, not to mention a bruise on my tail, but eventually I get out of Dad's kennel and into Watchdog's. Stinky is nowhere to be seen, but I hear frightened little mewling noises. My nose and my ears lead me to a terrified little ball of fur hiding under Watchdog's bed. For the first time, I realize just how small and how young Stinky is. "Stinky," I bark quietly to get his attention so as not to provoke another all-out assault on my nose. "It's Porthos."

"I want my Daddy!"

"I can relate to that, but our Dads are a little busy right now, Stinky." The ship shakes again and sends me sliding into the bulkhead. Stinky slides, too, and collides with my belly. I feel his tiny claws dig into my coat, but he's not doing anything a little puppy his age wouldn't do under the circumstances.

"Make it stop, Porthos!"

"That's you Dad's job, Stinky." I try to think of a way to explain this in cat terms. "Your Dad's a real tiger." _"Look, it was either that or a lion. At least tigers have the same color fur as Stinky, even if it is striped so they look like they've just busted out of the pound. Male lions always look like they're having a bad hair day. Like I said before, Watchdog is always impeccably groomed." _He's master of the great claws of fire, and his aim is even better than yours. He'll get whoever's attacking us in a sensitive spot where it'll really count."

"I'm sorry I hurt your nose, Porthos. Please don't be mad." Stinky's little body is trembling in distress.

"Hey, little buddy, forget about it. I'm fine!"

"That's what Daddy always says, even when I know he's not."

"You've already noticed that too, huh?" _"The kid's sharp, and not just his claws."_ He doesn't answer, but I feel his little heart pounding in fear, so I nuzzle him and gently lick his fur the same way I would groom a scared little puppy to soothe him. I'm careful so he doesn't see my teeth and get the wrong idea. _"When did his scent stop being that nasty, disgusting, nauseating C-A-T scent and become simply Stinky's scent, no more worthy of adverse comment than the scent of any other member of the pack? I wish I could ask Spicy Lady Erect Ears because she certainly doesn't seem to find Uncle Trip's scent disturbing anymore either."_

"So Dad will save our pride?" Stinky asks.

"Yeah, our hides, our tails and our pride. He's the reason we can go about with our heads and tails held high." Stinky gives me the strangest look, even for a cat.

"Silly Porthos, a pride is a cat pack. Didn't you know that?"

"Oh, yeah! Right!" I try to cover my mistake.

"He'll save you, too, Porthos, even though you're a D-O-G. We like you anyway!"

"Gee, thanks, Stinky! That's good to know." The ship finally seems to be settling down.

"Porthos, I don't think Daddy would be very proud of me. I was so scared!"

The little guy sounds so sad. I decide that grooming him so that his fur looks all spiky down the middle of his back is probably not a good idea after all. "You just didn't like not being able to see what was going on. You stand up to anything you **can** see, even a 'giant' dog." I hear happy little purring sounds as he relaxes his grip on my coat. In no time at all, he's asleep.

I must have taken a nap too, because I am awakened by the sound of the door opening and Watchdog calling for Stinky. He wakes immediately, scrambles over me and launches himself at his Dad. In no time at all, he's sitting on Watchdog's shoulder and rubbing against his face. I bound up and am yipping and dancing around Watchdog like I was a Pomeranian instead of a beagle.

Watchdog smiles broadly as he tries to pet two excited animals at once. Stinky meows stridently about how glad he is to see his Daddy, how scared he was and how I came and made him feel safe. He's climbed up on top of Watchdog's head by this time. Watchdog finally manages to get hold of him and calm him down. "Were you scared, Stinky? I was worried about you, lad. Lucky for us, Porthos is such a good guard dog, eh?"

Watchdog retrieves Stinky's dish and puts some food out for him. I swear it has cheese in it, but the rest doesn't look or smell all that appetizing. I'm about to leave for home when Watchdog says, in his command voice, "Porthos, stay! Commander Tucker has a great deal of repair work to do. You could get hurt if you go wandering about. That wouldn't do. No, that wouldn't do at all. I'll tell Captain Archer where you are. I'm sure he's concerned about you." He's gone to his desk and pulled several dog treats out of the bottom drawer - the really good kind that taste and smell like bacon and cheese. He gives them to me and doesn't even make we beg. "Thank you for watching out for Stinky, Porthos. You're a good dog."

"Thank you, Watch-," I start to bark but stop. What should I call him? Stinky wouldn't want his Dad to answer to "Watchdog." I may have gotten use to Stinky _(all right, I may even __**like**__ the little guy)_, but I refuse to call the human formerly known as "Watchdog" by a cat name. He's definitely not Outcast Traitor Malcolm anymore, either. Maybe "Uncle Malcolm" isn't such a bad idea after all. I try it on for size. "Thank you, Uncle Malcolm," I bark. I'm rewarded with a smile and a brisk rubbing of my coat.

Uncle Malcolm heads back to work and to tell Dad where his truant pooch is. I settle down to gnaw on my dog treats. If Watchdog is going to be Uncle Malcolm now, then that technically makes Stinky and me cousins. I wonder how **he** feels about it? I'm so busy considering the ramifications of this that I don't notice that Stinky has snuck up on me until I feel his delicate little pink tongue licking my nose. "Stop it, Stinky! That tickles!" Of course, being a cat, he ignores me and doesn't give up until I bury my snout in my front paws. I guess that answers the question, though: Stinky's got no problem with us being, as Uncle Trip would say, kissin' cousins.

This whole thing about liking both canines and felines - well, I suppose that's what Spicy Lady Erect Ears means by "infinite diversity in infinite combinations" - but that's too weighty for me. I'm going to play with my little cousin, except that I don't know where he's gotten off to while I wasn't looking. "Hey, Stinky," I bark, "How about showing me that 'pounce' thing you cats do?" He does - off Uncle Malcolm's bed and onto my head. Next chance I get, Cousin **is** going to have that spiky row of fur all the way down his back, sort of a feline version of Mr. T from that old video program, _The A-Team_, that my uncles like to watch.

Silly Porthos, indeed!


End file.
